


for strength in times of weakness

by frenchleaves



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Is So Done, Bokuto Koutarou Has ADHD, Bokuto Koutarou-centric, Bokuto Week 2020, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fukuroudani team as friends, Gen, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Pro Volleyball Player Bokuto Koutarou, so many metaphors..., yes i cried writing this but only bc im gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchleaves/pseuds/frenchleaves
Summary: “That’s funny!” Yamato bursts in, before Koutarou or anyone else can comment, “I kind of forgot that Coach didn’t just immediately choose Bokuto for captain, it just seemed too obvious.”Koutarou grumbles, hand tapping on the table. He remembers the uncertainty, the desperation to be wanted even if he felt like he was not needed, the fear of their rejection, and then the relief. “Not to me,” he says, and maybe it was too soft, a murmur between the cacophony of the bar, but it is still heard by his friends.“Oh? You remember when we chose you as captain, Bokuto?” Konoha smiles, taking a sip of his beer, and leans on Washio, who’s been quiet this entire time.“How could I ever forget? That was one of the best moments of my life!”(The fukuroudani team chooses Bokuto as a captain at the end of his second year)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112
Collections: Bokuto Week 2020





	for strength in times of weakness

**Author's Note:**

> i can't write bokuto pov, sorry in advance. it's so late, he's so emotionally driven and uhsiduvkwCYKW YEAH. ANYWAYS this is for bokuto week day 2 but i'm late. the prompt was fukuroudani.
> 
> aaaaaaanyways no beta and its 5:20am so i can imagine there's some mistakes. if u see any just point them out uwu thanks!!
> 
> i wrote all of this listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lTtMyTKidA) on loop bc i'm kind of in love with kim taehyung it's become kind of a problem WHATEVER.

* * *

If there is one thing to know about Bokuto Koutarou is that he likes to make an entrance.

Today, however, for the last practice of the year, he arrives early enough to have missed his last class of the day. Koutarou sits in a corner of the gym, hidden between the foam mats, looking up at the open windows. Sunlight streams from them, but not at Bokuto, hiding in the shadows. Distantly, he hears the bell that indicates the end of the day, a shrill reminder that while not the end of school, not even the end of the week, a year of volleyball had ended, and another one was about to be born.

Losing at Nationals is something Bokuto will not forget, especially as the ace of the team. He feels like a failure, and is constantly waiting for someone to throw him off the team, to tell him how disappointed they are of him. He remembers how every other team at Nationals had shone brightly, Inarizaki with the freshly minted Miya twins, Shiratorizawa and Ushiwaka and their strength, Kiryuu, and now Sakusa from Itachiyama taking his spot in the spiker rankings. 

Koutarou remembers the sting after spiking a ball, the glory of looking down on opponents after a well-placed feint, and the clamor of the crowd after a service ace. All of these calm him down, make him happy, but volleyball has started feeling like a job more than something he has fun with. There is the distant sound of footsteps, voices overlapping others as people start trailing into the gym, sneakers against wooden planks. Leaning his head to the side, Koutarou sighs, hands nitpicking the fabric of his knee pads with restlessness. He strives to be better, to always be the best, but how can he do that when he can’t support his team, when they look at him and he looks back and he tries and tries but always seems to fail. 

“Bokuto!” he hears, and snaps his head up. Konoha looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Where were you? Someone from your class was looking for you.”

More footsteps start coming closer, none following Konoha to Koutarou’s spot, but staying near so they can hear the conversation. “I wanted to come to the gym,” he says, voice low and eyes dropped. He sighs again, and looks at one loose thread from the mats, rolling it with his fingers.

Konoha nods, humming, and turns around. “Akaashi-kun! Bokuto’s in emo mode!”

Someone laughs at the distance, making Koutarou wince, but they are quickly shushed. He stands up, and as he comes to his full height, he makes eye contact with Akaashi, who gives him a knowing look. “Bokuto-san, did you really miss class? You know you shouldn’t do that this close to final exams,” he says as matter-of-fact, and that’s the truth. Koutarou wants to be truthful with Akaashi, how he hasn’t been able to concentrate on anything other that spiking a cross-shot for a week, about how the week before it had been on perfecting a jump serve, and how the week before it had been on a futile attempt to beat Itachiyama at Nationals, to bring their team to the center stage. He does not tell Akaashi how his brain is just jumping from thought to thought, replaying videos he had seen at 3am of Nicolas Romero spiking and spiking and always scoring without a fault. He does not say that he knows how close final exams are, and how if he does not show to class then he doesn’t know what to study, and when he fails it will not be because he sucks like he does at supporting his team, but because he simply was not there.

Instead, Koutarou nods, and Akaashi just sighs. “Are you down because of the spiker rankings? You know making it to the top five is still a big deal, right?” Akaashi steps closer to him, a hand on his shoulder, but Koutarou still looks at the sunlight streaming from the overhead windows, the supple light making the specks of dust seen as they float in the air. 

“I guess,” he mumbles after a beat, and then remembers that today the next team captain and vice-captain will be chosen. At Fukurodani, the team sans the third years choose the captains themselves, so there is a general consensus and not someone chosen at random by the coaches. With no energy to look around, he turns to Akaashi. “Is Coach here?”

“No,” he says, moving his hand away from Koutarou’s shoulder, and there is such a feeling of loss as the touch connecting them ends. “Yukie and Kaori were with him talking about some paperwork they had to complete before the year is over, I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

Koutarou nods dumbly once again, as Akaashi moves away to talk with some of the other first years. Akaashi is not his, Koutarou’s brain provides, he has other friends and you’re just a nuisance to him, a mere kid being babysat by a junior. 

It would be more humiliating if he didn’t constantly want Akaashi’s affections. 

_Akaashi,_ Koutarou thinks, _could make a wonderful captain._

And that’s a thought that’s been constant since he has met the other boy. How collected he is, how organized, and how much he could be trusted. Sure, he wasn’t an extrovert, but that didn’t matter when choosing a captain. Akaashi was blunt enough to voice his concerns, but respectful enough that no one got mad about it. He could definitely nominate him as an option, but wonders if other third years would feel bad about a first year going for his second year becoming captain. In that sense, then maybe Konoha could step up as captain with Akaashi as his vice-captain. They get along well enough, even if Akaashi seems to be joined by the hip to Koutarou. 

Koutarou looks around the gym, awkwardly standing in the corner he had been sitting on. His eyes are unfocused, and it hurts when they start noticing the details around the gym. The volleyball cart near the net, three chairs in front of a metal bench, the sneak of shoes running on the side of the court, the jumble of voices. He stands there, a hand fisted tightly around the folds of his shorts, and feels the vertigo of falling into an abyss.

He needs, he wants at least, for the team to keep him as their ace, even after he has disappointed them. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Koutarou exclaims, and the people at the table he approaches with a skip on his step turn around to meet him with laughter and happy greeting. Akaashi trails silently besides him, but still calls out a greeting to the rest of their friends. “What’s up, guys!”

“Hello, sorry for running late,” Akaashi says, sitting down beside Konoha and an empty seat meant for Koutarou. His tone is sweet, if quiet, but the words drip with a fixed promise of annoyance that Koutarou believes was born after countless hours spent with Tenma Udai. “Someone decided it would be an amazing idea to run to the park to pet some dogs, instead of coming here directly.”

“But Akaashi!” Koutarou all but screams, a hand over his heart in what could be mock hurt, but has a sliver of truth behind. “They were so cute! A day without petting a cute dog is a day lost, that’s my new philosophy!”

“I believed it was to be a “normal ace”, Bokuto-san, or did you change ideology like you change directions now?” 

“Akaashi! That hurts!”

Someone, probably Haruki, groans. “Oh god, you guys haven’t changed at all,” Konoha says, head leaning on a poised hand, “That makes me glad, I think. There always have to be constants in the universe. Like gravity and time, or Akaashi and Bokuto.” 

This makes the others laugh, but the latter man blushes, and Koutarou wants to ask what that means. 

“Awe, c’mon Aki-kun,” Koutarou drawls out the vowels for a purposefully annoying effect. It has the desired effect, and Koutarou smiles and thinks about how much he has learned about annoying people with purpose instead of accidentally since joining the Black Jackals. Somewhere in Osaka, Miya Atsumu fights a sneeze, wondering if Sakusa will throw him out of their apartment if he leaves snot around, even if it is inside himself. “Don’t disrespect your captain like that! First round’s on me!”

There’s a chorus of thank yous from the people present. From his seat, Yamato smiles. “Bokuto-kun, it has been six years since you’ve been captain. Most of us don’t even play volleyball anymore,” he says, shrugging as Haruki hits his arm.

“Akaashi was also captain,” Yukie points out, a small laugh on her face as she looks at the reserved man.

A waiter comes by, at which they order a round of beers and some food to share. Akaashi adjusts his glasses, frames over his nose and hiding the light freckles that sparkle across his cheeks. “I was never your captain, and Bokuto has always been the one that mattered.”

“Oi, no self-deprecating comments from you, Captain-san!” Kaori exclaims from besides Yukie, and Koutarou smiles at how good their friends are to Akaashi, even if they haven’t seen each other in about three years. Akaashi is not someone that needs protection, but once in a while he needs to be reminded that he’s human and just like them, needs affection and rest. “We know you did an amazing job after we graduated, and we wouldn’t have it any other way!”

“Yeah! No one gets to insult Akaashi, not even Akaashi!” Koutarou says, hand hovering over the other’s knee, and pats it twice before moving to grab his beer with it. “Besides, I would have never been a good captain without you by my side.”

“That’s so sweet, I think I might be sick,” Konoha mockingly hurls, and Kaori throws a napkin at him. “What?”

“Are you jealous, Konoha-san?” Akaashi speaks up, a smirk on his lips, even if the tips of his ears are a soft shade of pink. From close up, Koutarou can see the way his eyes shine with amusement, and has the undeniable urge to trace his eyebrows, the eyebags under his eyelashes, and the bridge of his nose. He masks it with a gulp of beer, and hopes it is not that noticeable. 

The blonde huffs, crossing his arms and turning away. “I would never. After putting up with you two for two years, I think I had my share of second-hand embarrassment and pining for life.”

_What?_

“That’s funny!” Yamato bursts in, before Koutarou or anyone else can comment, “I kind of forgot that Coach didn’t just immediately choose Bokuto for captain, it just seemed too obvious.”

Koutarou grumbles, hand tapping on the table. He remembers the uncertainty, the desperation to be wanted even if he felt like he was not needed, the fear of their rejection, and then the relief. “Not to me,” he says, and maybe it was too soft, a murmur between the cacophony of the bar, but it is still heard by his friends.

“Oh? You remember when we chose you as captain, Bokuto?” Konoha smiles, taking a sip of his beer, and leans on Washio, who’s been quiet this entire time. 

“How could I ever forget? That was one of the best moments of my life!”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Koutarou wonders how close to Akaashi he can sit before he can get him to play with his hair, but those thoughts are squandered and gone back to insanity over possible rejection when Coach steps in, and they all sit a bit straighter when looking up to him from the floor. 

The coach and the two managers sit side by side on the metal chairs, but there is no serious mood. No one in the team looks stressed, some other people still run around the gym and bounce balls on the walls and against the floor, and someone even yawns. Koutarou would gape at all of them, if he didn’t feel like being swallowed by the ground, and nips at a loose sliver of skin on his index finger. In a sense, they all look as if this is just a normal day, a normal practice, as if they’re not choosing the way they will operate for the following year, and choosing for the best person to lead them to nationals with a chance to win. 

Still, after a minute, no one moves to speak, and the coach just starts talking about practice for the week. 

It all becomes too much, and Koutarou feels dejected, but not enough to be unable to speak his mind. “Aren’t we choosing our captain and vice-captain today?” he looks around, eyes landing on Washio, who just shrugs in response. “Personally, I believe there are some good choices– Konoha could be a very good captain, and if he doesn't want that, I would personally vouch for Akaashi. He has all the characteristics of an amazing captain, or a vice-captain for whoever is chosen,” he rambles, even after he feels Akaashi tense from beside him, energetic and frustrated and about to burst. “We could each nominate someone, and whoever gets more nominations is chosen! That way it’s very demographic or whatever.”

“Democratic,” Akaashi mumbles from beside him, looking at him with wide eyes. 

Silence follows the setter, and Koutarou looks around to see the reception of his nomination in the team’s faces. Everyone is just looking at him weirdly, even the coach, and Koutarou frowns, wondering if there’s something on his hair or if they’ve already thrown him off the team unanimously and don’t need his opinion. Akaashi is still looking at with, incredulity clear in his eyes, and Koutarou feels ashamed and hurt that Akaashi might think he is stupid, and be ashamed to be associated with him. There is another moment of awkward silence, before Konoha bursts out laughing.

Koutarou deflates, and his eyes glaze over. _Yeah,_ he thinks, _they think this is stupid_. Of course they do, who would listen to the rambling of an ace who does not even score points that matter.

Someone, another first year, slaps Konoha’s arm, and the blonde bursts out an apology to Koutarou. “Sorry, Bokuto-kun, I didn’t really mean to laugh, you just caught me by surprise,” he says, and Koutarou thinks his eyes don’t start to water because he hears the sincerity behind Konoha’s tone. “Believe me, I’m honored that you even considered me for captain, but I thought it was fairly obvious that we have already reached a consensus!”

_What?_ “What?”

“Bokuto, you were our choice in the first place,” Washio supplies from his place, deep voice gentle in its intonation, “You’re the one we believe is the best fit for the captain.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I was still so surprised,” Koutarou states, taking a chip to his mouth, and Haruki squawks indignantly, “I didn’t even think I was a choice.”

“That’s what made you the best choice,” the actor explains, rubbing his forehead, and Yukie nods, taking some chips into her mouth before Kaori or Washio can stop her. “It’s best to give positions of power and responsibility to those who don’t want it. They normally make the best leaders.”

There’s a laugh from Konoha’s seat. "What are you now, a politician?” 

“I could be! Shut up, Konoha,” Haruki laughs, and the rest of them follow in tandem, but Akaashi’s is lower, much slower, and Koutarou turns to face his boyfriend after a hesitant touch on his bicep. He looks ready to say something, and Koutarou has always been a sucker for this man, so he waits for Akaashi to brandish his words like a weapon. 

“You did bring us to the finals at Nationals,” Yamato supplies, interrupting Akaashi’s build up. It is not unkind, Koutarou thinks, a warmth nestling in his heart over the care his ex-teammates seem to have for him. Still, something in his stomach makes him want to disagree, to make them want to tear him down, even if years have passed and they’re all grown and smoother around the edges. 

“But we couldn’t even win!” The petulance inside of him wins, brimming out like waves, and his shoulders slump.

“It’s not a matter of winning or losing, Kou,” Akaashi bursts out unexpectedly, and everyone raises their eyebrows at the use of Koutarou’s given name. He takes off his glasses, as he keeps talking, and hangs them on the brim of his knitted sweater, right under his neck. Koutarou believes this way, everyone can see more of Akaashi, which is always a good thing. “It’s not even about the journey by itself, or just about standing in the place of giants. It’s about giving it your all, it’s about the way in which the other team has trained, about past, present, and future connections. It’s about how we gave it our all, how we put every purpose and want and need behind that ball when we served, set, spiked, blocked, connected. Maybe we gave it our all and it wasn’t enough, but it proves to all of us, to me, that not only did we look up to you with good reason, but that you were conscious enough to know the hardships being captain and the ace put upon your shoulders, and you bore it all with a smile in your face and a drive behind your eyes.”

“And very good shoulder muscles.”

“You can clearly see who studied Literature and who didn’t,” mumbles Yamato as Kaori pushes Yukie jonkingly for making that comment. Koutarou feels a bit put upon the spotlight, which isn’t that bad of a thing, but he blushes nonetheless at the comment.

“Nice words from our kouhai captain!” Haruki points at Akaashi, who does blush under the stares. Koutarou believes he looks prettiest with pink undertones over his cheeks and nose

“For the last time, I wasn’t your captain,” Akaashi rolls his eyes, exasperated, and Koutarou decides to just fuck whatever walls they have been putting up, and puts a hand to Akaashi’s thigh, squeezing softly as if that could pass all his affection like a shot of electricity. 

Koutarou looks at Akaashi, taking him in, and they’re already on the second round of beers, and the slight feeling of alcohol in his blood makes him mellower and more prone to gazing than speaking. The hand stays on Akaashi’s thigh, unmoving, and Koutarou can feel the other man giving him a look. “You’re so good to me, ‘kaashi,” he mumbles, looking at his shoulders.

“I have to keep the world’s most normal ace in check, don’t I?” Akaashi just says, pushing his glasses lower on his sweater. He takes a sip of beer, but Koutarou knows he has work tomorrow, so he will not go overboard. Koutarou wishes for the same, if only for Akaashi’s sake and to prevent any Koutarou-brand future embarrassments. There’s a disgusted voice in the background saying something like _so sweet, how disgusting_ , which is probably Konoha or Yukie, who have always liked to make fun of Bokuto and Akaashi for being so close, always gravitating towards the other.

Koutarou does not remember a world without Akaashi, but he guesses it was spent wanderless and without a goal in life. 

“Yes, I am the most normal ace!” he exclaims, and Akaashi has just always seemed to understand him for some unknown reason. It’s amazing, how much Akaashi fits into his life, how easy it was to just be himself around him from the second they had met. Koutarou had, for the first time in his life, someone who truly understood him and wanted to keep up with him.

Not that that’s only down to Akaashi now. Koutarou has had the wonderful luck of meeting so many driven people like him, not only in volleyball, and wonders which god is looking down to him. 

“Of course you are, Koutarou,” he mutters, decidedly under the volume of the other conversations going around. Koutarou smiles adoringly at him, taking note of all the details on his face, lest he forgets it all. There’s his hand on Akaashi’s thigh and his heart on Akaashi’s hands and he’s willing to give himself over and over and over. 

“Oh, I’m going to throw up,”

“Shut up, Aki-kun!”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“You’re the one we believe is the best fit for the captain.”

Koutarou feels like all was stolen from his lungs, and inhales sharply. “Whaaat? What do you mean I’m the obvious choice? That makes no sense!” he exclaims loudly, voice bordering on insanity. Does his team know what him being captain would entail? It doesn’t seem like so, considering how relaxed they are. His chest feels ready to crack under the pressure on his shoulders, weight pushing him further and further into the ground. 

“Of course it makes sense, Bokuto,” Konoha says, standing up besides the coach. “You drive us all to be better, become wiser in both our plays and our view of life. It’s easy to look upwards rather than to the past when you just move forwards with the steps of a giant. You haven’t even considered that we all looked up to you? Sure, some of us aren’t able to always keep up with you, but that’s more on our stamina than anything you can offer as an excuse. You’re serious when needed, and aloof when we are too high strung. Even with how volatile your moods can be, it can be brandished as our play style, and it can help us shine as a team.”

There might be some truth behind Konoha’s words, but Koutarou just looks dumbly at him, and points at himself. “Me?” he says, no idea what he is even feeling, but a smirk plays on his face, eyes watering, “I don’t agree. I’m a weak ace, and I would be even worse off as a captain, how can I support an entire team then?”

“You wouldn’t have to,” says coach Yamiji, smiling, “An entire team’s fate doesn’t fall on the shoulders of a single person, especially if it’s a child we’re talking about. Even then, Bokuto, you’re one of the greatest fits as captain I have seen, not only because of what Konoha explained, but of how well you fit the Fukurodani philosophy.”

As if a mantra, Koutarou looks at him and mumbles, " _Pour all your soul into each ball_."

Coach looks at him, assessing him up and down, before he nods. “Who else could we want as captain, other than someone who constantly strives to be the best, one that pours all of his purpose and wishes and expectations into every ball, every word, every experience. It was your teammates who had already nominated you beforehand, so there is no further voting on the captain matter, unless you really do not want it and wish to step down, or want to quit the team.”

“Nope!” Koutarou almost screams, coming easily back to his old self. “How could I quit? Volleyball’s my life!”

“That’s the spirit, see!” Yukie squalls from her seat, and everyone makes a sound of agreement. Koutarou feels so small and yet so big between these people. So big and bigger and growing over their expectations and their praise and the energy. Over Koutarou’s recovered mood, he can feel any tension in the air release, and he feels Akaashi let out a content sigh. Yukie looks up to him, and pens something down on her notebook. “Can we just call you captain, then?”

Koutarou nods, “I won’t let you down!”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Conversation is then shifted towards other things: a new drama airing on TV, the fact that many of the people they graduated with had already started getting married, some volleyball technicalities, the upcoming Olympics, a corrupt political scheme, and cute puppies. They continue drinking and catching up, reveling in the light atmosphere that the beers and the place and the company provides. After a while, however, it gets too late, and Akaashi looks at Koutarou from the corner of his eyes, and he confirms with a squeeze of the other’s thigh. 

“Hey, hey! We’re going back to Akaashi’s place for the night. Work and all that,” he explains, then chugs what’s left of his beer. They already had paid for some rounds, so they had no pending payments in the restaurant. Koutarou’s hands are not linked with Akaashi’s but he yearns for their touch. Koutarou and Akaashi don’t live together, considering the distance from Osaka to Tokyo, but they share their lives and their places and their hearts and their touch. It has always been like that. From the other side of the table, Haruki gives him a knowing wink. What he supposedly knows, Koutarou has no idea, so he just smiles back. From his side, Akaashi blushes, and looks away in order to say goodbye to the girls and Washio. This makes Haruki smile even wider, and Koutarou wonders what he just apparently communicated. 

Well, that’s a problem for future sober Koutarou. 

They gather their things, wave a final goodbye, and push the door to the outside, together and in sync. It’s late at night, and the moon’s up in the sky, shining brightly upon their newly locked hands. It might be Koutarou’s bleeding heart, but he swears he sees a shooting star, and quickly makes a wish, moving to hold Akaashi’s hand a bit tighter. The man looks beautiful under the starlight, just as if he were one more of them, a shining star, steady and bright and not too hot but warm. It hurts, inside of Koutarou’s heart, how much love he holds for Akaashi.

“It was fun to see the team,” he decides to say, so much mellower than what he normally shows, courtesy of four rounds of beers. Not enough to make him extremely tipsy but enough to warm his insides and slow his movements. “Watching us all grown up makes me so nostalgic.”

“I get that feeling,” Akaashi says, thumb rubbing on Koutarou’s palm. “Did you really feel like that about being captain?

Koutarou stops in his tracks, eyes looking down at the pavement. There's a piece of glass in front of his feet, and decides to kick it to the side, the impact a crunch of broken glass over brick walls. “I did, but I know that wasn’t true, and my brain was just being annoying,” he mumbles, voice too truthful that it rasps against his throat, “I know better now, even if it’s hard to understand at times.” A thought then comes up to him, knowing Akaashi over the years, understanding how they feel the same but cope differently, and his stomach drops. What if Akaashi doesn’t know how much Koutarou needs him like he himself had not understood for so many years?

He just smiles back at Koutarou, all small lines and curves. “That’s good, Bokuto-san.”

“Keiji,” he whines, “Don’t call me that when it’s just the two of us.”

“I was just messing with you, Kou,” he confesses quietly, voice so full of affection that even Koutarou can feel it, and then: “I love you.”

“Y’know, I never did choose you as vice-captain in the end, but if it were up to me, I’d choose you over and over and over until I die, and then I’d find you again and continue to choose you until the universe ends and the only thing that could stop me is the demise of reality.”

“You’re so sappy, Koutarou,” he says, but his eyes are bright, his shoulders loose, a genuine smile on his lips. “You can just say _I love you_ back, don’t outstage an editor with words.”

Koutarou looks at Akaashi in the eyes, and in their reflection he can see his own, and the adoring look on Akaashi’s gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think I could ever outstage you.”

“Pft, Kou,” Akaashi laughs, this time unabashedly, “You outstaged me from the second I met you, but I knew from the start, that I would look at your back and bask under your shine, always. It was more of a surprise when you looked back at me.”

He feels giddy, warmth in his heart moving to his throat, where all kind words for Akaashi reside; his arms, which can hold Akaashi in the night; his arms and his hands and his fingers, all so close to touch his every detail, from the softness of his hair to the roughness on his hands from writing and pushing edits too hard at night. He loves Akaashi so brightly and so fiercely. Koutarou is grateful that he has always had him by his side, from setter, to vice-captain, to best friend, to boyfriend, to the love of his life. He then wonders if anyone else realizes this, other than Akaashi, and then he comes to a realization.

“Wait, do they know?” Koutarou turns, eyes widen and jaw slack. They hadn’t been that obvious, right? Koutarou has always been affectionate with everyone, especially Akaashi, so any touch shouldn’t be a surprise and just normal Bokuto things. Right? _Right?_

Beside him, Akaashi looks especially unbothered. “About what?”

“Keiji! About us!”

A laugh is lost in the night, and Koutarou feels defeated. Akaashi just looks at him knowingly, as if he knows that he had been restraining himself with their friends over the fear of them knowing the reality of their relationship, but then again, he probably already knows. Akaashi has always known Koutarou’s thoughts without him ever moving to tell him about them. “Of course they know. Everyone knows. It’s fairly obvious, in their defense.”

“So I could’ve been holding your hand this entire time?” Koutarou whines. Damn, all those missed opportunities of being closer to Akaashi, all lost. “Man, that sucks!”

“Just keep holding onto me then, never let go.” Akaashi does not look at him, but at the sky, and he has never looked more beautiful. Koutarou swings their linked hands, feet in front of the other as his mind replays years of memories, of being small and unknowing and volatile and anxious, of finding a missing part of his soul in a boy far too serious yet stressed on the inside, of victory and defeat, one after the other and in loop over and over again. He comes back to the present then, the two of them holding hands under the starry sky, just an old setter and his spiker, trailing on the path of giants.

“Never in a million years.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me being gay n yearning in my twitter [@shikameninist](https://twitter.com/shikameninist) uwu


End file.
